Tag: war

Maybe Love Will Change Your Mind

Work at home Friday, with the sun up and bright and the sky is clear and blue–almost cerulean, if you like–and I feel pretty good. I was very tired when I got home from work yesterday afternoon, and despite my best intentions I didn’t get anything done last night other than providing a lap for Sparky and finishing season one of The Traitors UK. Are you tired of my latest obsession yet? Paul isn’t quite as obsessed as I am, of course, and he finds my passion for the show a little amusing. But what can I say? It’s an absolutely delightful escape from the world and its assorted horrors; and it makes me happy and helps me relax. And we need to find joy in the world when there is so much trying to tear us all down and make us miserable. Joy feels like resistance, nourishing my soul so I can face the horrors of each and every day, and the more joy we find, the less likely the bastards are to win.

I think there was some excellent news with the removal of Kristi Noem (aptly namedKristi Lynn Arnold Noem (KLAN) from Homeland Security after all the taxpayer funded waste so she can, among other things, fuck Corey Lewandowski in the air to her heart’s content. Remember draining the swamp? How quaint that old demagogue slogan sounds now, doesn’t it? Almost like America First. And yet people still support this criminal gang that are looting the country and driving the national debt through the roof and up into the sky–it’s orbiting Pluto now, and about to break free and head for Sirius. I love how Democrats are the people who supposedly waste our tax dollars, while their God-emperor just steals from us with both hands. She’s being replaced by Markwayne Mullin, who sounds like a character from Green Acres, or a villain from an old Burt Reynolds caper movie. He’s another short man with a Napoleon complex (see Greg Bovino, Dan Bongino, Joe Rogan, etc.) who thinks he’s a lot tougher than he actually is–mainly because being short everyone else has to punch down to hit him. What nonsensical shit he’ll get up to–he’s as bad, if not worse, than Secretary KLAN–she’s just stupid and useless; I think he is stupid and evil–and God forbid, sees this as his ticket to higher office. Although Oklahoma could do the funniest thing and elect a Democrat to replace him…won’t happen; Oklahoma is too far gone into their hatred and bigotry and self-righteous white victimhood to send such a message to Washington; his replacement in the Senate will most likely be even worse.

I’ve also been loving the Reich-wing excuses and justifications for this insane and illegal war in the Middle East that we’ve started; I think my favorite was “we’ve been at war with Iran for forty-seven years!” Then why was the Reagan administration selling them arms to fund the Contras in Nicaragua, because that was definitely aid and comfort to the enemy and Oliver North should have been executed? See how easy that was? They are lying to us about everything, and I can’t imagine with our bases being hit how we’ve not had more casualties than what they’ve admitted to–you know, the “suckers and losers” he has referenced numerous times in the past.

I am also kind of angry about some other things–namely, the Texas Democrat need to vote for anyone other than the qualified and definitely battle-tested Black woman for the “new great white hope” from Texas (anyone remember Beto, or whatever his name was? Whatever happened to him?), who also doesn’t believe in Medicare for all and has anyone really dug into his reproductive freedom stance, or queer rights? No offense, but after being betrayed by the faux-progressive campaign stances of grifting trash like Kyrsten Sinema or John Fetterman, forgive me if I don’t climb right up on that train–and neither do Black Texas voters. His surrogates were not above using racism and misogyny to smear and slander Ms. Crockett, and his campaign did nothing–and no one on our side of the aisle should ever be okay with that kind of bullshit, especially one led by a Christian. I also saw some horrific racism on-line yesterday from white Texas gays–we’re never beating the allegations, guys, until you examine your fucking privilege–which led to a lot of blocking. Being marginalized doesn’t give you carte blanche to oppress other marginalized people. You can’t keep going to the Black community–especially Black women–for money, volunteers and votes when you consistently reward their hard work with racism, and of course the pro-genocide slander was right there for racists to use–and then “we need to rally behind the candidate!” Without the Black community, no Democrat will hold national office ever again. So maybe, white Democrats, take a moment and think about who you are driving away from the polls. If Black Texans don’t turn out in November, that seat stays MAGA. So, the Talarico people need to start making amends for their bullshit, stat. Hilarious how the same people who couldn’t bring themselves to vote for Jasmine Crockett were cheering her congressional takedown of KLAN the very day they couldn’t bring their anti-Black asses to vote for her the day before. “We love you! Way to go! But we’re not going to send you back to Congress, sorry!”

Seriously, and the racist white gays? You’re an embarrassment and a disgrace. It even looks like you’d vote against your own rights rather than vote for a Black candidate, and then you wonder why the Black community doesn’t trust or support us? Get the FUCK out of here. The Republicans didn’t want her on the ticket. SO what the fuck does that tell you, you stupid fucking assholes.

I was also alerted to a lovely Youtube review of Hurricane Season Hustle yesterday by Google alerts. Check it out!

Gorgeous Max Parker from last summer’s Netflix hit, Boots, which was cancelled because the Pentagon was pouty about gays in the military, the snowflakes.

All Cried Out

Tuesday! My long day but it’s also my last day of work for nearly a week; I don’t have to go back into the office until next Tuesday! Huzzah!

I slept very well last night, thank you very much, and I am feeling energized and alive this morning! HURRAY FOR CAPPUCCINO TUESDAYS! It rained most of last night–still is raining now, but it’s that weird kind of rain where it feels all steamy outside; usually it’s not very humid when it rains. We’re also in a flash flood warning; but aren’t we always when it rains?

I started reading Lou Berney’s November Road last night and while I was only able to read two pages before I had to put it aside, it’s fucking unbelievably good. And this rain makes me want to go back to bed with my blankets and just relax, reading it and drinking coffee until I’ve devoured every word. It’s that good, people. Preorder the hell out of it.

Paul and I also started watching a Netflix animated series last night called Big Mouth. Someone recommended it to me, and I cannot for the life of me remember who it was, but it popped up on my recommendations last night and I started watching it, and OH MY GOD. It’s about junior high school kids who are going through puberty and it’s hilarious and honest and real and did I say HILARIOUS? It’s definitely not for kids, I suppose, since there’s some pretty frank talk about masturbation, menstruation, and questioning your sexuality, but it’s terrific–if you have a really off sense of humor like I do.

And now, back to the spice mines. One more chapter and this Scotty draft is FINISHED. Huzzah!

Next up for Promises in Every Star and Other Stories is my story “Unsent”:

Dear Greg,

 I hope you don’t mind I’m writing this letter. You said you didn’t mind so I’m guessing you don’t.

I wanted to thank you for being such a nice guy…it’s funny, I’ve been wanting to write this letter for a long time; I started writing you so many times and I just ended up throwing the letters away every time. I know you probably think I’m just a goof; a dumb kid who doesn’t know what he wants or needs or anything, and that’s true I guess. I don’t know what I want to do with my life….if I live through this. I just wanted to fly planes, and now I am flying them….but this is different.

I guess I was just naïve and stupid when I joined the Air Force. All I wanted to do was fly planes….it never occurred to me I’d be flying planes and killing people…pretty dumb, right?

**

He was just a boy.

He couldn’t be more than fifteen, was my first thought when he walked into Lafitte’s that Tuesday morning. There was no one in the bar besides me; it was twelve thirty. I was working the 5 a.m. till 1 shift, covering for Mike. This shift sucked. The only hope to make any kind of money was leftovers from the previous night when you start, and they’re gone by nine…..so for the last four hours of the shift it was just me and the cleaning women, and they were gone by eleven.

He stood for a few seconds in the doorway, hesitating. I looked up from wiping down the bar for the thousandth time in the last twenty minutes, and smiled to myself. I recognized the hesitation—an underage kid steeling his nerve to sit at the bar and ask for a drink. Well, kid, I said to myself, prepare to be carded.

He walked in and sat down on a bar stool right in front of me. He was cute, still with a little baby-fat in his pale freckled face. His hair was military buzzed, reddish-blonde, and his eyes gray. He was wearing a red sweater and a pair of blue jeans.

I put my rag away under the bar.”What can I do for you?” I asked.

He looked around the bar, not meeting my eyes. “A beer?”

“You got ID?”

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a worn black wallet, pulling out a military ID which he slid across the bar to me. I picked it up. The picture was him, all right, looking maybe ten years old, innocent and young. The birth date was August 12, 1968. Yeah, well, so I was wrong about his age. “What kind of beer? A draft?”

“Yeah.” He nodded and smiled at me. His whole face lit up when he smiled, his full lips pulling back over slightly crooked, yellowed teeth. I got a plastic cup and filled it at the tap, my back to him. I placed it on a napkin. “Dollar fifty.”

He handed me two ones, and I gave him his change. He left the quarters on the bar, which I slid into my hand and tossed into my tip bucket. “Not very busy, huh?” he said, looking down at the bar, not touching the beer.

I shrugged. “Nah, we’re never busy—don’t even know why we bother being open.”

“Yeah.” He toyed with his napkin. “Do you mind talking to me? I don’t wanna be a bother.”

I laughed and gestured to the empty bar. “Not like I got anything else to do.”

This is without doubt, one of my personal favorite short stories, if not my favorite. “Unsent” was inspired by several different things: I took the title from the Alanis Morrissette song, where she is writing letters to all of her ex-lovers, which I thought might make a great concept for a short story; the heartbreaking Dixie Chicks song “Travelin’ Soldier,” which I heard for the first time on the radio driving back to New Orleans from my parents’ in Kentucky and made me cry in the car (it still makes me teary whenever I hear it; it’s one of the most heartbreaking songs ever recorded) and a memory I have of standing in the doorway at Cafe Lafitte in Exile, just before the invasion of Iraq and seeing a boy, in his Army greens, standing across the street looking at the bar with longing on his face. I kept waiting for him to cross the street and come in; but he finally just turned and walked away up Bourbon Street. Seeing him reminded me of something we so frequently forget when it comes to wars and the military; the vast majority of the young men and women out there risking life and limb are so heartbreaking young; and every death, every injury, every veteran with PTSD is such an incredible, horrible waste. And I wanted to write a story that illustrated that horrific waste. And this was, of course, during the time of don’t ask don’t tell.

When Tim and Becky asked me to write a story for Fool for Love, I remembered the idea for “Unsent” and sat down and wrote it in one sitting. When I was finished, I was exhausted, and then I simply did a quick copy edit and emailed it to them. It made them both cry, and they loved the story, but wanted something a little more…upbeat, so I wrote “Everyone Says I’ll Forget In Time” to replace it. I eventually published it elsewhere–I think Lawrence Schimel was the editor?

I love this story, and despite the fact that it’s considered erotica because there’s a sex scene in it, it’s really about love and loss and waste and lost possibilities. I’m enormously proud of this story, and it is one of the stories I remind myself of whenever I get Impostor Syndrome:   if you weren’t a good writer you could have never written something like “Unsent.”

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